


The Machine That Keeps Us Going

by Tamoline



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 18:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16142564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: This ritual is important to her, a groove worn into the endless day-night schedule almost without sleep that is her existence. Something to cling to, a way to mark time. A way to engage with Emily so they don’t drift apart, like so many of her previous relationships.





	The Machine That Keeps Us Going

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kithri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithri/gifts).



> To my beta - we'll always have Emily's VERBING BODY.

It’s 9:06 at night when the door opens and Emily comes in through the front door. It wouldn’t be obvious to most people, but Hannah can read her tiredness in her slightly slumped shoulders, and the way she drops her briefcase the last inch or two rather than placing it on the ground.

Still, she waits until the door is closed before she bustles over to help. Even the merest possibility of someone, anyone, seeing Emily being given a hand is high on the list of Things That Are Not Allowed.

“I’m fine. I don’t need any help,” Emily says, semi-grumpily. The fact that she doesn’t say it more firmly speaks volumes.

“I know,” Hannah says, bending down to help her take her shoes off.

‘How was your day’ is off the menu, as always, the subject of work or of who they are when they aren’t at home being a line that neither of them are willing to cross. Hannah isn’t allowed to chastise Emily for being late, or for stressing her body when as far as Hannah knows there isn’t even a pressing need to.

Emily doesn’t thank her for helping her with her shoes, but her satisfied little sigh when they’re off is thanks enough. Of many such little things is their relationship stitched together.

And some larger things. Hannah rises to her feet, wraps her arms around Emily’s reassuring solidity and kisses her gently on the lips. “Welcome home, dear,” she breathes, the air from her lungs tickling Emily’s lips in the way that she knows she likes.

“Thank you,” Emily says, a hint of gravel in her voice before she kisses back, firmly.

Hannah’s breath catches in her throat as Emily claims her mouth, nipping gently at her lower lip in a way that sends little electric shocks pulsing through her body. Without conscious thought, Hannah finds her hands sliding down to grip Emily’s hips. Heat builds inside her, and for a moment she’s tempted to let this end where it may, but her conscience won’t let her. Not right now. So, with a pulse of loss, she breaks the kiss and steps away. Her hand catches Emily’s and she leads her to the dining room, pulling out a chair for her to sit down at the table before slipping off to microwave two plates of tuna, potatoes and green beans she’d cooked earlier.

“You didn’t have to wait,” Emily says in her custom objection.

“Yes, I did,” Hannah replies, as she almost always does. When things are too hectic she’ll eat out in the field, but this ritual is important to her, a groove worn into the endless day-night schedule almost without sleep that is her existence. Something to cling to, a way to mark time. A way to engage with Emily so they don’t drift apart, like so many of her previous relationships.

“I think Janice finally asked Art out,” she says as she sets the plates down in front of them both.

“Really?” Emily raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think that was ever going to happen.”

“I know,” Hannah says, smiling slightly. “It really gives you hope for the future.”

It often seems slightly incongruous that they spend so much of their free time at home gossiping about people they know. But for the sake of the fine line they draw between their official identities and… this, they can’t talk about that. Both of them are workaholic enough, uninterested in following pop culture enough, that they don’t really have much else to talk about. And besides, it’s something that connects Hannah to reality, to the fact that there are things beyond heroes and villains and the endless, endless battle to maintain order in a world steadily, slowly growing ever more mad.

“Abebi was spat on again, on the way to work today,” Emily says, lowly, viciously, halfway through the meal.

“Is she alright?”

At that, Emily lets out a loud, ugly laugh. “She said she’s fine, but I got James to go with her on the way back.”

Hannah strokes Emily’s fist, clenched in impotent fury. She wishes that she could be more surprised, but she can’t. Not when Abebi is a black woman in Brockton Bay, not when Abebi prefers to wear a headscarf in public. Somehow it’s only worse that it probably wasn’t even a member of the Empire, just a common or garden racist given license by their presence.It’s probably worst of all that she isn’t even that concerned about Abebi, apart from in a distant, second hand way. She’s more worried about Emily, who doubtless sees this as yet another personal failure in a war they’re nowhere near winning.

She lets Emily rant herself out before interjecting with, “Alvin’s been forwarding everyone photos of his son scoring a try in his football game,” she says, passing Emily her phone.

For a moment, Emily’s face is blank, before the corner of her mouth twitches. “Did you mean to show me Colin going head over heels?” she asks wryly.

Hannah keeps her face carefully blank. “Sorry, I’m not sure how a picture of Dennis’ latest prank got in there.” It’s a violation, albeit a minor one, of the terms of their relationship, but Hannah judges it a good one as Emily relaxes and actually seems to enjoy the rest of their meal.

Afterwards, they chat for a bit about this and that. It’s nothing particularly new - they tease each other with some well worn jokes, reminisce about a two day holiday they actually managed to snatch/were practically mandated to take for mental health reasons about two years ago, and talk about what Hannah is going to cook for the rest of the week - before Hannah starts looking significantly at the clock on the wall.

Emily rises grouchily to her feet and they walk up to bed. As almost always, the sight of Emily undressing, her lush curves framing her ample body, does things to Hannah, re-igniting the heat that’s been gently simmering away since the earlier kiss. She can’t help but stray forward to gently stroke her fingers over the exposed flesh.

“How are you feeling?” she hums into the back of Emily’s neck.

She feels Emily shiver against her, but then Emily regretfully shakes her head. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m not feeling up to anything tonight.”

“Fair enough,” she says, moving away from Emily as they engage in the well worn dance of lowering Emily down onto the bed and arranging her in the proper position. She takes the opportunity to gently caress her wrist as she hooks up first one tube then the other into the shunts on her arm. She waits until Emily is settled under her sheets before seating herself on a chair opposite and tilting her head a little. “If you’re not up to anything yourself... would you mind if I got myself off whilst admiring your gorgeous body?”

There’s a hint of vulnerability in Emily’s eyes, as if despite the fact that Hannah takes every opportunity to show her that she clearly does, she still can’t quite believe that anyone could find her attractive,. “No,” she says, her voice gravelly, her eyes dark. “I don’t think I would mind that at all.”

Hannah quickly shimmies out of her clothing, being sure to wrap the knife her power is currently masquerading as in her top so Emily doesn’t catch sight of it, and sprawls back onto the chair. She covers her breast with one hand, pretending it’s Emily’s hand touching her, imagining that her hand is over Emily’s much more full breast, and slides the other hand down between her legs, making sure that Emily gets a complete view as she does so.

Then she slowly, luxuriously, almost decadently gets herself off, never quite breaking eye contact with Emily, glorying in the look of faint lust in her eyes. She brings herself to climax to that sight again, and again, and again, finally slumping in the chair noodle-like for a few minutes, closing her eyes letting the endorphins course through her. Finally she opens her eyes to see that Emily has fallen asleep as the machine hums next to her, cleansing her blood.

Hannah quickly gets dressed, then walks over to Emily’s slumbering form. “Maybe one of these days you'll get out of the office on time...” she murmurs, words that she could never say when Emily was awake, kissing her gently on the lips. 

Of course, there’s no guarantee that Hannah will be back, despite her best efforts, but she knows that Emily doesn’t worry as much, or at least in the same way. There’s always more work for Miss Militia, even if there’s only ever so much time for Hannah.

She turns off the light in the bedroom, then heads downstairs and out, for another shift at the offices of the Rig, leaving Emily - not Director Piggot - behind.


End file.
